


Tentative Stalemate

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Did you and the bf break up?” Chaz asks.“No,” Jared says. “I don’t know.”“Maybe figure it out,” Chaz says, “because you’re kind of being an asshole today.”





	Tentative Stalemate

When Jared leaves for Red Deer, he leaves with three missed calls, an uncertain number of texts from Bryce. He hasn’t looked at them. He honestly wishes he could just leave his phone at home, but his parents wouldn’t be okay with that, not having him immediately reachable, so it’s tucked in his pocket like an ugly little time bomb, full of whatever bullshit Bryce has to say.

Usually Jared would do homework on the bus ride, but Red Deer’s too close to really get into it, and it’s impossible to concentrate. Jared tends to start with math, because he’s good at it, can get ahead, but equations that would usually be no-brainers are swimming in front of his eyes, and after the second time he loses his place, he shoves his textbook back into his bag.

“Late night or what?” Chaz asks.

“What?” Jared asks.

“You look half dead, man,” Chaz says.

“Cool,” Jared says. “Good to know.”

“Maybe take a nap?” Chaz says. 

Jared tries, because he honestly _feels_ half dead, and that’s not conducive to playing well, but it doesn’t work, between the bursts of laughter from the front of the bus, the tinny music he can hear filtering out of Chaz’s headphones, the way it feels like he has a stone in his throat.

He tries again during the hour they have at the motel before team lunch, but Tristyn won’t shut up about some ‘babe’ he hooked up with that weekend, shoves his phone in his face to show Jared the facebook page of a pretty girl Jared is almost positive is in his math class. Jared really didn’t need to know she swallowed, but now he can’t unknow it, so thanks so much, Tristyn. Also Tristyn graduated two years ago, so it’s gross that he’s crashing high school parties. Never mind that Jared’s — whatever.

Everyone’s so loud at lunch, and like, aggressively happy, guys laughing at jokes that definitely aren’t funny enough to deserve the absolute uproar. Jared stabs at his pasta salad, shoots a glare at Braydon and Braeden, who’re the the loudest. Maybe an inability to shut up is some sort of curse you get when your parents don’t know how to fucking spell.

“Dude,” Chaz says, elbowing him in the side.

“What?” Jared asks.

“You forget your phone at home or something?” Chaz asks. “Is that why you’re being like this?”

“What?” Jared asks, then, “It’s in my pocket”, rather than asking what ‘this’ is supposed to mean.

“Oh,” Chaz says. “Uh.”

“What?” Jared snaps.

“Did you and the bf break up?” Chaz asks, quieter.

“No,” Jared says. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe figure it out,” Chaz says, “because you’re kind of being an asshole today.”

“Thanks,” Jared says. “Appreciate it.”

“Just saying,” Chaz says. 

*

“Fucking _chill_ ,” Chaz snaps, halfway through the first.

“Guy’s an asshole,” Jared snaps back. “What do you want me to do?”

“ _You’re_ an asshole,” Chaz says. “And I don’t want to sit around warming the bench when we have to kill another fucking penalty because you got dumped.”

“Guys,” Logan says. “Come on.”

“I didn’t get fucking dumped,” Jared says. “I—”

“No one cares about your girlfriend, Matheson, just play the damn game,” Coach snaps behind him.

Jared puts in his mouthguard, bites down hard, and says fucking nothing until the final buzzer goes. Just plays the damn game.

“Tone it down, Matheson,” Coach says, after. “A bit of an edge is good, but we need you on the ice, not in the box.”

Jared only spent two minutes there, and the Rebels didn’t even get a power play out of it, since Hartman got a minor of his own for some retaliatory roughing. But Jared knows better than to argue, definitely knows better than to snap at Coach, as much as he wants to right now.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbles.

“And keep your personal life off the ice,” Coach says.

“It isn’t,” Jared says. “I mean. It is. I’m not letting it affect my game.”

“Yeah,” Coach says. “You are.”

*

It’s hard enough to sleep already without a roommate who fucking _talks in his sleep_. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jared snaps, which apparently doesn’t do a damn thing to wake Tristyn, because it’s silent for all of a moment before he mumbles something else. Jared rolls over, pulls his pillow over his head. Takes deep breaths. Edmonton tomorrow and the next day, and then he’s home and doesn’t have to see any of these jackasses except in school for three entire days. Think happy thoughts, Jared. Not the way Coach looked at him, sharp and disappointed, or Chaz saying he was dumped — he _wasn’t_ , and the unread texts in his phone probably testify to that, not that he’s going to look at them — or Tristyn’s goddamn inability to shut up even when he’s sleeping. Not Bryce fucking Marcus.

Just — not Bryce.

*

Jared doesn’t know when he stops feeling angry and starts feeling just…overall shitty. Happens in the night, he guesses, because he wakes up just — drained, too tired to be pissed even though Tristyn’s left the bathroom a mess, toothpaste and hairs flecking the sink, his towel on the floor. 

Chaz gives him wary looks at breakfast as Jared pokes at his limp bacon, but doesn’t say anything, at least not after a ‘good morning’ to Jared’s mumbled ‘morning’, and he sits with Logan on the ride to Edmonton. Jared’s stuck with Koletrane, which doesn’t end up being the worst thing, because he falls asleep twenty minutes into the trip and only wakes up when they’re pulling up in front of the hotel.

He’s just. There. Does some homework in the room, naps again before dinner, falls asleep while Tristyn’s watching TV, which at least means he doesn’t have to listen to the sleep talking. He gets through the day. The next day. He gets through.

*

They win in Edmonton, no thanks to Jared. He’s not bad, exactly, like, Coach doesn’t call him out or anything, and the first line doesn’t produce anything as a whole, but Jared knows he can play better. No penalties, at least. So there’s that.

Fuck, he’s exhausted. Exhausted and stressed and he wants to check his phone but —

Jared’s going to have to bite the bullet and apologise, because he can’t do this again, the radio silence thing, even if it’s all on his end. He can’t go this many days without talking to Bryce.

Unless it’s like. Over. It might be. He doesn’t know. He’s afraid to ask. Would have to actually open his text chain with Bryce to do so, and that’s — he’s afraid of that. That Bryce might have tried to break up with him by calling, did it by text instead when Jared didn’t pick up.

His phone feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket now that he’s thought about it, that it might have the end enclosed in some typo ridden sentence. He knows better than to pull it out, read the texts surrounded by his teammates, in the room with Tristyn, who might notice if Jared like, ends up crying in the bathroom, so he holds off. They get dropped off at lunchtime the next day, which is shit, because everyone who’s still in school is stuck going straight there for afternoon classes, and Jared isn’t pathetic enough to go ask for a hall pass so he can read his texts in the bathroom. Again, crying in the bathroom is not on.

He checks it as soon as he gets home, curling up under the covers in his bed, because he apparently he needs that extra bit of privacy. It makes his stomach twist, reading through the texts he’s missed, the _can u talk to me pls?_ and _pls pick up ur phone_ and the _im really sry pls_ , and finally, two days ago, _r u breaking up w me?_.

 _Hey_ , Jared types, which is so inadequate. Starts to write _I’m sorry_ , but he can’t manage it, and it doesn’t feel right, doing it through text. He ends up deleting the whole thing, tries _I’m not breaking up with you_ , but who the fuck texts that two days after he was asked the question in the first place? An asshole, he guesses. He feels like one.

 _Can we talk when you get back to Calgary?_ Jared settles on finally. Bryce doesn’t text him back right away, and Jared finds himself staring at his phone, willing it, for the first time in days, to buzz.

 _ok_ , Bryce texts back finally, and Jared blows out a breath, not sure whether to be relieved or even more worried.

Jared hates winging it, but he honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he sees Bryce. Doesn’t know what Bryce is going to say either. Presumably Bryce doesn’t want to break up — like, he asked if Jared was breaking up with him, which kind of implies he doesn’t want that, right? Fuck, Jared hopes so. 

So: sorry. He’s definitely going to need to say that, between the fight and the fact he basically ghosted Bryce. That one’s a no-brainer. But what else? That he was wrong? He doesn’t even — he’s still pissed about it, kind of, that hasn’t gone away. Wrong not to text him, at least, to ignore his calls. He can cop to that. Anything else…he doesn’t know. He’d probably say anything, right now, if that fixes shit.

*

Saturday Jared has to spend catching up on everything he’s let slip all week. He does it in order from most painful to least painful, and he hits algebra late that evening, still working on it when the doorbell goes. That’s kind of weird, because it’s almost ten, so it’s obviously not a door to door salesman or anything, but Jared doesn’t give it that much attention until his mom’s poking her head into his room.

“You know you’re supposed to knock,” Jared says. 

“Bryce is at the door,” his mom says.

“Wait,” Jared says. “What?”

Last Jared checked the Flames crushed the North Stars this afternoon — Jared didn’t watch it, didn’t have the time and didn’t know if he could stomach it, but he couldn’t help himself from checking the boxscore, and Bryce was definitely there, considering he scored a goal, so that’s —

“It’s kind of late for him to be coming by,” she says. “You can go tell him that.”

“Yeah,” Jared says dumbly. He’s wearing sweats he’s owned since he was like thirteen, battered and way too short, practically flood pants, and a t-shirt spattered with paint from when him and his dad repainted the dining room, but he doesn’t think about that until he’s down the stairs, and then it’s too late to change. That’s extra embarrassing once he steps onto the porch, because Bryce is in a suit, looks tailored and polished and _fuck_ Jared missed him. Like, he knew that, but it hits him hard now that he’s actually here.

“I’m so sorry,” Bryce says, before Jared can say a thing.

“When’d you get back?” Jared asks. “I thought you guys were in Minny.”

“Uh,” Bryce says. “I came right from the airport, so.”

“I didn’t mean--” Jared says. “I didn’t mean we had to talk right away or anything.”

“Sorry,” Bryce says. “Should I go or—”

“No,” Jared says. “No, I didn’t mean that, I’m—I’m fucking this up.”

“No,” Bryce says. “You’re fine.”

If Bryce was trying to pick the one thing to make Jared feel the shittiest, he nailed it. That, plus the fact that he apologised the second Jared opened the door has him — 

“I was kind of an asshole,” Jared says, and it feels like an understatement.

“You weren’t an asshole,” Bryce says.

“No, I definitely was,” Jared says. “So like. You shouldn’t be apologising. I knew you weren’t chill about like…your team meeting me and I was on you about it anyway. I just like. I missed you. And it didn’t seem like you wanted to see me.”

“I did,” Bryce says. “Like, I can’t skip team stuff, I did that a bit last year and — I can’t skip it? But like — I don’t want you to think I don’t want to see you, I want to see you, like, all the time, I hate that I can’t see you that much, and I—”

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, because he realises he hasn’t said it yet. “I know you’re — I actually know team shit’s important, I didn’t mean to, like, undermine it or whatever.”

“I don’t know if you want to, like — but I, uh,” Bryce says, then, pulls a small key out of his pocket. “I got this made?”

“Is this—”

“I figure it might make it easier to like, swing time together if you can stop by whenever works for you, and it’s totally cool with me if you want to hang out or whatever when I’m not around, might be handy for you to have a place near the Saddledome to chill, you know?”

“You’re giving me a key to your place,” Jared says slowly.

“If you want it,” Bryce says. “I don’t know. Like, I don’t know if you not texting me meant you didn’t want to do this anymore, and I really really hope not, I—”

“I’m like ninety nine percent sure I’m in love with you,” Jared blurts out before he can stop himself.

It’s barely past his lips when Bryce kisses him, teeth clacking painfully against his before it evens out, Bryce’s hand fisting his shirt, strands of his hair, annoyingly stiff with gel, in Jared’s hands. Even with his mouth stinging from Bryce’s teeth, it’s the best Jared’s felt in awhile.

There’s a loud knock on the window, and when Jared startles and pulls away, his dad is glaring through it.

“Shit,” Jared says. “Um.”

Bryce gives this jerky, awkward wave to Jared’s dad Jared can’t help but find adorable, though his dad apparently doesn’t agree, just makes a sign undeniably meaning ‘come inside’ which Jared assumes is only meant for him.

“You should probably go,” Jared says reluctantly.

“Yeah,” Bryce says, though he sounds as reluctant as Jared does. “Will you — can you come by tomorrow? I’ve got practice in the morning, but--”

“I’ll come by around lunch?” Jared says.

“Cool,” Bryce says, gives him that brilliant fucking grin, pressing the key into Jared’s hand. “You can let yourself in, if you want, you don’t have to wait for me or anything.”

The door swings open behind him. “Jared,” his dad says. “It’s late.”

“One minute,” Jared says, not looking away from Bryce. The grin’s gone, which makes sense — thanks dad — but his face is still wide open, something there Jared doesn’t quite know how to read, but hopes he’ll learn to.

“No minutes,” his dad says. “Now.”

“Hi Mr. Matheson,” Bryce says.

“It’s late,” his dad repeats.

“I’m sorry,” Bryce says. “It was important.”

“Jared,” his dad repeats.

His dad’s clearly not going to let them have a moment in private, so Jared goes with, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “I’ll um — I’ll text you?”

“I’ll uh, answer this time,” Jared says. “Sorry.”

His dad pointedly clears his throat.

“Okay, okay!” Jared says, trudging inside. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bryce says, and he’s grinning again when Jared’s dad closes the door on his face.

Jared ignores the look his dad is giving him, heads upstairs, the key in his hand warm from his own body heat, edges cutting in to his skin when he squeezes it.

His phone buzzes as he closes the door behind him, from Bryce, which must mean he’s like, sitting in his car, texting him like a total loser. Fuck, Jared’s — he’s so gone, isn’t he.

 _sry i didnt say it back ur dad kinda distracted me_ , Bryce has sent, _im like 100% sure im in love with u tho, jsyk_

 _Cool_ , Jared replies, which is stupid but like…what do you say to that? It _is_ cool. It’s fucking awesome.

Bryce, apparently still not driving — _hopefully_ not driving — responds with a smiley as wide as Jared’s grin is right now.


End file.
